Of Weddings and Broken Hearts
by catsinhats
Summary: A One-Shot; thoughts coursing through Molly's head when Sherlock leaves John's wedding in The Sign of Three. [written in third person]. Sherlolly.


Of Weddings and Broken Hearts

**[A/N: Set in TSoT, Sherlolly. Although I ship Johnlock badly, I cannot write Johnlock fics; I feel if I start then the only result would be me in an emotional mess and an incomplete story. So here's a One Shot, because Sherlolly and angst go hand in hand.]**

He put the violin aside and secured the envelope containing the happy couple's wedding gift. He gave a little speech and stumbled on his words, declared that the music may start again, and got down the podium to talk to the newlyweds. Everyone in the room began dancing to the lively tune being played, and they were all immersed in the mirth of the occasion. In the midst of the laughter and the dancing, Molly Hooper saw Sherlock Holmes slip out of the crowd of dancers and into the hallway.

She faltered a bit and stared in the direction of the tall frame that was quickly making his way out of the venue. _Why did he do that? _Was the first thought in her mind; after all it is his best friend's wedding, and seeing the preparation and the hard work he put into it he should've stayed here to at least enjoy the fruits of it. Although it wasn't unusual to see him walking out of the wedding; at the end of the day it is a social event, and the celebration of a societal organisation he doesn't believe in. She remembered Greg commenting something about a bet going on amongst the Scotland Yard staff, as to how long Sherlock would stay at the wedding before sneaking away. But Molly was observant; she noticed _him, _perhaps only him. She saw her face when he got on the podium to play the waltz [_and oh how beautifully he played the violin_] and she saw his face when he stepped off the podium [_a sadness not unlike one she had seen before in another's eyes_]. She knew that he wasn't merely escaping the dancing part of the evening.

Her step faltered as she looked towards his retreating back, her mind running, working overtime in frenzy. How many times had she seen that back exiting the morgue from St. Barts as his excitement gave way to an impatience which quickly materialized into a crime well solved. She would see from afar, sometimes helping him, other times simply [trying to] work while he was there in the lab.[_it would be physically impossible sometimes; catching a peek at his lithe form had almost become a habit_].  
She was used to his presence by then, and revelled in it. And now she saw him walking away and for a few seconds she thought he might've gone to the loo perhaps; another unlikely event, since she had been watching him this whole time [_watching from the corner of her eyes was a skill she had mastered over time_]. She gave a tentative smile to Tom, dancing goofily in front of her, before directing her gaze over to the hallway. He wasn't back. She felt her limbs go slack for a few seconds.

What would she feel like if the closest person to her had just moved on? Getting married is a huge step, one which must be taken with caution, and she felt the weight of her own engagement ring on her finger. Tom had been ecstatic when she had accepted him; he had kissed her and told her all about his grandmother and the ruby ring which she was now the recipient of. Sweet, sweet Tom, wanting to take the grand plunge, the big step, with her [_he never really could replace him in her heart_]. And she realized, even if for a brief moment, how Sherlock must be feeling; everyone who knew them knew that Sherlock worked with John now; they were a part of an inseparable team. Speculations about Sherlock's sexuality had been taken up more than twice at the hospital and other social gatherings, during the odd times he did come up as a topic [_she simply chose not to participate in those discussions_] and many had suggested that the very much single consulting detective had a _thing _for his blogger-flatmate John Watson. For a short time even Molly had started to believe in those theories, until that horrid Christmas night. Barring the party, the moment when Sherlock recognized _that woman's _identity from just her body, she knew that those speculations were meaningless; it was obvious that Sherlock had had some relations with the woman to know her so intimately. Wasn't it?  
She knew Sherlock loved John. Whether it was platonic or otherwise, she didn't know. As much as she tried to observe every little detail whenever he was around [_she simply chose to ignore the flower he threw to the maid of honour Janine after his performance tonight_], she knew the man is a mystery himself. To deduce Sherlock Holmes is to chronicle every moment of his life and unlock the highly complicated lock.

She could almost feel the heartbreak that must've been seeping through him and for a moment she almost left the place; ran after the detective and asked him to stay. Perhaps even waltzed with him. Laughed and cracked a few jokes, and tried to make the man laugh too.  
[_And where would it leave her once the song ended?_]  
She knew it was futile; she had tried so many times before. Lipsticks, change of hairstyles, that godforsaken Christmas black dress; no matter how hard she tried, they would end up back to square one. And hadn't she made a vow to herself to just move on? She had met Tom via a mutual friend, and they had hit it off. [_True, she had essentially seen an essence of Sherlock, if not the man himself._] When Tom had popped the question and she had said yes, she felt very happy; finally she would be a bride instead of the bridesmaid or the wedding guest. She thought she was moving on. She had pushed him to the darkest recesses of her mind, even though she knew that he was alive and was living somewhere [_perhaps he had found another, like the faceless woman. Molly chose to ignore that possibility too._]  
Then he came back. And asked her to accompany him that afternoon, the afternoon he wished her happiness and the best wishes. The entire night she hadn't been able to sleep, trying to comprehend and analyze [_overanalyze_] his words. The naive romantic in her insisted that he had changed; and perhaps even started to show even the smallest of recognition towards her. The possibility that she had ruined the opportunity by being engaged to _bloody _Tom broke her heart to the extent that she almost called it off. The reasonable part of her brain convinced her that nothing had changed; except that Sherlock decided to be a bit more open with his feelings. She was _his _pathologist after all. The one who helped save his life. [_"You've always counted"_] And so she convinced herself to stay in her bed, cuddle with Toby, and then meet up with Tom's parents the next day.

And the same resolve made her stay in her place, smile up at Tom and start dancing once again, the fake smile plastered on her faced as she danced to the lively music and, occasionally, glanced towards the hall entrance. The younger Holmes brother did not come back. And pretty soon she pushed him out of her mind.  
Sherlock Holmes put on his scarf and coat, his old ensemble, on and walked away from the wedding, the music fading away in the distance.

**[A/N: Thank you for reading! As stated before, any feedback is highly welcome! I am still quite new to the fandom, and so I hope I have done some justice to the wonderful characters.]**


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